The Color of Family (33 page)

And just when the doctor said, “What I would suggest—”

Aaron bounded from the chair, bumping it furiously against the wall and shouted, “No!”

At first Dr. Lillywhite looked confusedly at Aaron, then his face grew arrogant. He said, “I'm sorry, Mr. Jackson. I don't understand what you mean.”

“I mean, no, this can't be right. We come to you, asking you what we should do, asking you what needs to happen to get my mother to stop this whole thing about Clayton Cannon being Uncle Emeril's son, and you tell us that there's nothing we can do because she's not crazy. Well, I'm telling you one damned thing for sure, you're full of shit.”

“Aaron!” his mother scolded.

“No, now I'm sorry,” Aaron continued as he paced the floor. “Something has to be wrong with her, because if there's not, then you're telling me, Dr. Lillywhite, that I deserved to live in the shadow of this man who most of the time seems as mythical to me as he seems real. You're telling me that I didn't deserve to have a mother who gave me all of her attention without me having to go to bed at night wondering if I was the last little boy on her mind before she slept or if Clayton was. Is this what you're telling me, Dr. Lillywhite?”

Dr. Lillywhite looked stone-faced at Aaron. “I'm not saying anything of the sort.”

“So what are you saying?” he asked, not necessarily expecting an answer as he turned immediately to face his mother. “Ma, do you have any idea what it was like for me?” He chuckled with a nervousness that did its best to mask anguish. “From the time I was ten, I knew that I would never measure up to this man you worshiped. And I knew you didn't worship me like that. I knew that my accomplishments would never amount to the man who could make miracles at the piano. That's what you said, Ma, one day. I remember, you said that that boy can make miracles at the piano when they showed him on television that time for being the youngest person to ever give a concert at the Lyric. ‘He plays with the fingers of angels that were given to him on the day he was
born.' That's what you said, Ma. I was always one step behind him, at least that's how you always made me feel. I didn't do anything with the fingers of angels. I couldn't play the piano. I didn't look at notes and see a whole different language.”

Antonia looked across the room at her son with tears nearing their descent. She softly asked, “Aaron, didn't you know I loved you more than I loved my own life? I loved both of my children more than I loved my own life?”

“Sure, Ma, I knew you loved me. I guess Ellen knew that too. You weren't a cold and heartless mother. Of course you loved us and did the things a mother should do. But I just don't have a memory of you obsessing over me the way you always did over the little white boy Clayton. And most of the time I wondered, if I went away one day, would you be as consumed with bringing me back to the family the way you always were about bringing Clayton into the family? I just never felt safe. I just never felt the special way a boy's supposed to feel from his mother when he's the only son. Yeah, I knew you loved me, I just never knew what it would take to get you to love me the way you loved Clayton.”

Antonia put her hand to her forehead, as if she had been completely overcome by a massive spell of a headache. Quietly, she said, “I don't understand. I just don't understand, because I never knew. I thought everything was fine. Why are you just now telling me this?”

“Because he's back, Ma. Clayton Cannon is back here, and it's like he's not going to stop coming back until he just finally leaves with you for good.”

“Aaron, that would never happen. You're my son, Ellen's my daughter, and Junior's my husband. I would never leave my family. In fact—” But she stopped before she would say it, because maybe it would be too much.

“In fact, what, Mrs. Jackson?” Dr. Lillywhite pursued.

Then with barely a voice she seemed to direct to no one but herself, she continued, “In fact, I touched him. I followed him over to Harbor Place and then over to where he sat, and he asked me to join him, and we ate lunch and talked about all kinds of things. And I actually touched him. It happened twice that I followed him over there and the second time I took these two fingers and touched them right against his cheek,” and with the two fin
gers she held with seeming awe in midair, she placed them against Ellen's cheek to demonstrate. And when she seemed to come back from the place where she remembered Clayton, she said soberly, “And see, I could have brought him home, but I didn't.”

And by now, her children and Junior could only see her through slackjawed stares, and each one seemed filled with unformed questions.

“How's that?” the doctor asked. “How is it that you could have brought him home but didn't?”

“Well, I could have told him. I could have told him that he was Emeril's son.”

“And why didn't you?” the doctor asked. “I mean, you had nothing but time and opportunity to tell him what you seem to have been waiting his entire life to tell him, and then you just let the opportunity slip away. Mrs. Jackson, do you really believe this man is your nephew?”

“Of course I know he is!” she bellowed at Dr. Lillywhite. “But this is his mother's truth to set right. All of this is in Agnes's hands. And can you imagine if I were to try? I'm some strange woman he's only laid eyes on twice, and here I come telling him that my brother is his father. That would make that boy run as far away from me and as fast as he can, thinking I'm some crazy ranting woman speaking nonsense. No, I'm not going to lose him that easily. He has to be told, and he will be told. But it has to be right. I'm determined that it's going to be right.”

The doctor absentmindedly beat out a light, incoherent rhythm on his desk, then said, “Mrs. Jackson, are you afraid to find out the truth? Because it could go either way. The truth could be that Clayton Cannon is your nephew, or the truth could be that he is not. Are you afraid to find out that he's not your nephew?”

Antonia's neck stiffened, and her eyes became even more sure and steady. “Dr. Lillywhite,” she replied, “the Bible says that there is no fear that can destroy perfect love, and my perfect love in my belief in God and the way he showed me the truth lets me know that there's no need to be afraid here because what's true can't be changed.”

Dr. Lillywhite looked at her at first as if there were nothing he could say, but then he turned to the rest of them and said, “All
right, well, I want to ask one question of all of you, and I want you to go down the line and answer with only one word. Okay, I want to know what this chase for Clayton Cannon has made you all feel?”

So Antonia answered first with “Exhilarated.”

Junior said, “Typical.”

Ellen replied, “Motherless.”

And Aaron, who looked up from where he studied his shoes, went determinedly eye-to-eye with the doctor and said without tarry, “Useless.”

Dr. Lillywhite stood and moved to the opposite side of his desk and said to Antonia, “Now, Mrs. Jackson, you said exhilarating. That's pretty strong. Exhilarating in what way?”

“Well, it's like anticipating the coming of a child,” Antonia said as if she were explaining herself completely.

“Yes, but you have two children who said they felt, even, if I may, still feel, motherless and useless. But you were anticipating the coming of another child in spite of the angst of your children.”

“Well, they didn't tell me this till now, did they?” she said as she appeared to pick at her fingernails for a distraction.

“Well, what I want to suggest, Mrs. Jackson, is that the exhilaration of the chase of this man has actually been your obsession rather than actually bringing him into your family, because after all, you did have the opportunity, even though you say it's his mother's job to tell the truth. Maybe the exhilaration comes from the fact that this chase keeps your brother alive, and when you stop chasing Clayton, you'll let your brother die for good.”

With her lips pressed together as if they couldn't move, Antonia said tightly, “My brother's dead; his boy is alive. That's all there is to it.”

So Dr. Lillywhite got himself up from the edge of his desk and went to sit back in his chair. “Dr. Jackson, you said typical. What does that mean?”

“It means that what she's doing is typical of what Antonia does to us. She gets her mind set on something and she takes it as far as she can take it to get at the truth. That's just who she is. Love it or hate it.”

“Do you love it or hate it?” Dr. Lillywhite asked.

“I stopped loving it or hating it a long time ago, Dr. Lilly
white,” Junior said as he looked over at Antonia. “It's just who she is, and I accepted that a long time ago, too.”

And then Ellen, who had a gaze fixed quizzically on her mother, finally spoke. “The thing is, Ma, you think Clayton's your family, and we don't. That has been your mission since Uncle Emeril died, to make his supposed son your family. You can't possibly be surprised by Aaron feeling that you just might forsake all of us for Clayton, particularly with what you're telling us now about having lunch with him and touching his cheek and all.”

“But I am surprised, because even though, yes I do think Clayton is our family, I would never leave my children. And have you been feeling the same way, Ellen?”

Ellen curled her lips into a tight bow, as if in contemplation of holding something at bay, then smiled a tight smile and said, “Let's just put it this way, Ma. You and I have always had an awkward relationship, but I really don't think you ever noticed.” Then she turned to Dr. Lillywhite, because after all he was there to help. “Life with my mother was like the way we dream in metaphor, where things are pretty plain in the way they appear and in what we think they mean, but really they mean so much more. It was just awkward.”

But Dr. Lillywhite could say nothing, because Antonia then bellowed, “Awkward relationship?” And by now she was in tears that were coming in torrents. “I don't know what you mean! I don't know what you two want!” And her voice trailed off to fragments of garbled words.

“I've only always wanted you to say that I was okay, Ma,” Ellen said glumly. She hung her head so low that it seemed as if it could touch her belly. And into her belly she said, “You know what, Ma. When I brought Rick home, I was certain you, of all people, wouldn't disapprove, because I thought that you would think it was okay if I married a white man. But then, when you carried on the way you did after he left, telling me I didn't know what kind of mess I was about to get myself into, I was completely and totally confused. All my life, for as long as I had memory, you had shown me pictures of this white boy who I watched through pictures grow into a white man, and you swore by God that he was your nephew. You were more proud of him than you were of yourself when you looked at him, and for the life of me, I couldn't fig
ure out why, except that it was because he was white and that was all a part of what made him so special to you if he was Uncle Emeril's son. At least that was how I understood it until I married Rick. Now, I have no idea.”

Antonia narrowed her eyes, then studied Ellen as if she had never noticed her before. Her smile was only half of one when she said, “Ellen, I couldn't care less what color Clayton is. Just because he's Emeril's son makes him a black man in my eyes. His whiteness was never an issue, and I don't know what would make you think that's what made him any more special than you or Aaron.”

Ellen took her mother's hand with a soft compassion, squeezed it and asked, “Ma, do you remember the day I got into medical school?”

“Of course I remember that day!” Antonia said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “I could never forget that day, and how that night your father and I took you and Aaron out to dinner at the Baltimore World Trade Center to celebrate, and we looked out at the harbor and talked about your future and—”

“And talked about Clayton Cannon,” Ellen continued for her mother. “That night was the first night Clayton Cannon ever played Carnegie Hall, and even though that was going on hundreds of miles away in New York, the conversation somehow always got back around to that—“
Did he sell out the concert hall? Are they going to give him a standing ovation?
” Do you know how that made me feel? You know, to this day, when Rick and I go to New York to visit his family and we're walking down Fifty-seventh Street, I can't even look at Carnegie Hall. I don't want to see it, I don't want to even catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye. I must look really crazy, even to crazy New Yorkers because I nearly walk sideways past the place to keep from seeing it. All because it reminds me of the most special night of my life when I didn't even get to be that special.”

“I'm sorry, Ellen, but I really just don't remember that,” Antonia said with a pleading voice.

“Well, how could you, Ma? I really don't expect you to remember that, because how can you remember one episode in a string of Clayton Cannon episodes that were rendered as naturally for you as if he lived underneath your left arm, right next to your
heart all the time. But trust me when I tell you that it happened.” Then she turned to her father, then to her brother and asked, “Do you two remember that night?”

“I sure do,” Aaron said in a determined tone that put him firmly on his sister's side.

Junior only sat staring into the nothingness right before him. Then he got up, took a stroll over to where Aaron stood by the window, and as he looked out onto Broadway said, “Yeah, I remember that, little girl, but I just don't know why you kids are coming up with this stuff now. I knew when I married that woman that I would never be anywhere near Emeril in her heart. That's just the way it is. Emeril and all things about Emeril come first, then it's you kids, then it's me. I accepted my place a long time ago. You should be happy that you're right behind Emeril.”